


To Be Loved in the Busiest Coffee House

by Penguina



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: 18th Century, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, False Accusations, Friendship, Heartbreak, Jail, Love, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Secret Relationship, Trials
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:35:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23012605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penguina/pseuds/Penguina
Summary: When Mayor Cobblepot is accused of forcing himself on his cobbler Edward Nygma, James Gordon is the lawyer assigned to defend him. Despite the Mayor's initial denial of being anything but vague acquaintances with the cobbler, James realizes there's more to Cobblepot's relationship with Nygma than meets the eye. At a time when homosexuality is considered a crime deserving a death penalty, James decides to defend the cause of love. Because love shouldn't have to remain hidden, and everyone deserves the right to be loved in the busiest coffee house.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot & Jim Gordon, Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 10
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by 2x02 of Garrow's Law with guest star Andrew Scott.  
> Here's [part 1](https://youtu.be/ReUufWzZ-D8) and here's [part 2](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QmgOUPCPA2M). Parts of the dialogues come directly from the scenes in the episode. I hope you enjoy this! 
> 
> P.S. I promise I haven't abandoned my other stories!

_ Gotham, 18th century  _

It was most irregular. In his career as a barrister James Gordon had faced many peculiar cases, especially in a city like Gotham. But none of that could compare to the one he was about to take now. 

“Sodomy?” James arched an eyebrow at his associate Harvey Bullock as the latter offered him the papers. 

“Sodomy,” Bullock gave a meaningful nod. “It’s a pitiful case too. Involves the Mayor himself.” 

“I thought Mayor Cobblepot was well-liked.” 

“He was,” Bullock sighed. “Until he was pressed with charges of sodomy. Now all of Gotham is against him.” 

“I find it disturbing that those who’d until recently professed friendship and support would turn on a person so easily, without a blink of an eye,” Jim muttered thoughtfully. 

“One cannot avert one’s eye for sodomy, Gordon,” Bullock reminded wisely. “It’s a crime. We might as well defend a murderer.” 

James was not sure sodomy was equal to murder, but he decided to keep that thought to himself for now. 

“Let’s go meet the Mayor then,” he said instead. 

~*~ 

They were holding Mayor Cobblepot in a moldy damp cell, underground. One small barred window that allowed little light to sip through into the grim habitation was the only connection the until recently respected Mayor had with the outside world. James and Harvey were permitted to visit the man as his defenders. 

“Mayor Cobblepot?” James was the first to enter the cell. He extended a hand to the wreck of a man he saw in front of him. “My name is James Gordon. This is my associate Harvey Bullock.” 

“We’ll be defending you from the gastly allegations against you,” Bullock added in a lew of a greeting. 

Mayor Cobblepot, a short man in his late 30’s, rose from the stone platform that was supposed to serve as a bed. His appearance was somewhat disheveled, his hair falling in his eyes now that he was not allowed any toiletries. His clothes, once elegant, were now untidy. He looked tired, eyes a little red, dark circles underneath them. He looked like he had been crying, Gordon silently noted to himself but did not remark on it out loud. 

He shook James’ hand. “Not to be rude, but I was expecting my own lawyers.” 

Ah. That was tricky. Jim tried to be as polite about it as possible. “You see, your lawyers, they… seem to be busy with other cases. So I got the honor of being assigned to you.” 

The Mayor scoffed. “They refused to defend me, didn’t they?” The smile on his face was bitter. “When they heard what the charges were.” 

“I’m sorry,” James said seriously. 

The Mayor shrugged. “I won’t lie. I am disappointed, but not surprised. Trust is very hard to find in Gotham.” 

Bullock remained silent so far. Gordon had never seen him this quiet before, but then again Bullock did warn him that in cases of sodomy the sensible thing was to keep an arm’s distance. Perhaps that was what he was doing. James didn’t mind. He liked having the freedom to handle his own cases the way he saw fit, without anyone’s interference. 

He noticed the wooden chair that was left for him in the corner of the cell and pulled it closer, sitting down across from the Mayor. 

“Now, I familiarized myself with your case, Mr. Mayor, but I would like to hear it in your own words.” He looked the man in the eyes. “What happened?” 

The Mayor’s lips were a tight line. He didn’t seem too eager to talk about this. 

“I realize it can’t be easy to discuss an accusation like this one, but I’m afraid it is necessary,” Harvey interjected. “You see, we can’t defend you if we don’t know what happened. You are unmarried and you live alone, therefore vulnerable to this particular kind of accusation.” 

“We only want to hear your side of the story,” James concluded. 

“I-- I am not guilty of what they say,” the Mayor said. 

“According to Mr. Edward Nygma,” Bullock continued, “you forced yourself on him, you sodomized him. He has a witness. His wife.” 

The Mayor paled a little. “I am aware of what the charges against me are. And I claim innocence.” 

“Good.” Harvey said, a little too relieved. “Now, tell us what happened that day and we can start preparing our defense and rid you of this heinous accusation.” 

The Mayor swallowed. His eyes returned to James Gordon, as if he were telling his story to him alone. “A buckle had detached from my shoe. So I went to Mr. Nygma’s shop for him to mend it. We went to the back room where he usually works. He seemed rather upset, his business wasn’t going well, you see. So I put my hand on his shoulder, to comfort him.” He glared at Harvey. “Now, I think you will agree that a hand on another man's shoulder is anatomically and by degree some distance from sodomy!” 

Both James and Harvey remained quiet. 

“Forgive my outburst. I am rather angry,” the Mayor added, running his hand through his messy hair. 

“It’s understandable,” Bullock nodded in approval. 

“Rage becomes a man who’s been wronged,” James added. “What happened next?” 

“Nothing. His wife entered the room. She started consoling him, an intimacy I had no wish to intrude. So I left. The next thing I know I have the runners at my door.” 

“How long have you known Edward Nygma?” James asked. 

“About…” he gave it some thought, “... six months.” 

“Would you say you two are close?” 

“No more close than a man could be with his cobbler,” the Mayor replied. 

“Why would he then share his worries about his business with you so openly? If you two weren’t close? Why would he shed tears in front of you?” 

The Mayor shrugged. “I cannot say. I do not know. We conversed whenever I waited for my shoes to be ready.” 

“What about?” 

“Oh, nothing of consequence, really.” He waved his hand about. “The weather. Whatever scandal had graced the papers that day.” 

“Have you lent Mr. Nygma money?” 

The Mayor sat up, looking a bit agitated. “A few times.” 

“How many times, exactly?” 

“Over the last six months, four times perhaps?” He didn’t sound too sure. As if money was no object in this case. 

“To what end?” James pressed. 

“I-- his business was in need of money. I wanted to help.” 

“This won’t do, Mr. Cobblepot,” James warned. “We need more details. A reason. A way to prove your innocence. Now, why did you give him money and so often? Has he perhaps threatened you?” 

“Yes, yes, it’s as you say,” the Mayor agreed a little too soon. “He threatened he’d accuse me of a bestial act if I don’t give him the money.” 

James and Harvey shared a look. Gordon seemed pleased. “Good. We’re getting somewhere. Now, we can defend you, Mr. Mayor.” 

Encouraged, the Mayor continued, “I did refuse his last request.” 

“And he threatened you!” Bullock said enthusiastically. 

The Mayor nodded. “It is as you say,” he agreed humorlessly. 

“Blackmail,” James uttered thoughtfully. 

“Now we have a defence,” Bullock said, pleased. 

“This goes better than mere defence,” James elaborated. “This will serve to see him indicted in turn.” 

Mayor Cobblepot paled. “Nygma to be put in the dock?” 

“It is not merely blackmail but robbery. The man’s a villain, trying to extort you, threatening your very life by accusing you of such heinous crime.” 

The Mayor bit his lips hard. “But is my denial not enough? My word as a--” 

“As a Gentleman?” James finished the sentence. “No it is not.” 

“It’s good we’re getting somewhere,” Bullock added. “The shoe-mender will be outed as a blackmailer, and your reputation will be restored.” 

“How long would he get if he’s convicted?” the Mayor asked. 

“About two years in jail,” James estimated. 

“Better than what you’ll get if you’re convicted,” Bullock tried to joke, but quickly realized that now was hardly the time or the place. 

“We’ll be in touch, Mr. Mayor,” James rose from the chair and shook the man’s hand. 

As they exited the cell, Bullock whispered. “You really think he’s innocent?” 

“I do,” James replied thoughtfully. “I also think him a liar.” 

~*~ 

Edward was hunched over a shoe, twisting it back to life. It took a lot of physical effort to mend a shoe properly but he was glad to have this outlet for all the emotions that were tormenting him. His wife, Isabella, slowly approached him. 

“You’re worried,” she noted, her hand resting on his shoulder. He flinched at her touch and stopped working. “Don’t be afraid. It’ll be alright,” she reassured. “I know you didn’t mean for this to happen. You were violated. But I promise you, he won’t bother you again.” 

Edward swallowed. Isabella leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek but Edward pulled away instinctively. 

“I-- I’m sorry, I just--” he stuttered. 

Isabella straightened up and brushed some invisible specks of dust from her husband’s shoulder. “That’s alright. I understand. After what  _ he  _ did to you, you’re not very comfortable with being touched.” 

Ed did not say anything to that. 

“Just make sure to mention that in the trial,” she warned and gave him a meaningful look. 

Edward hunched over his work again. His heart felt heavy. His eyes were filling with tears again. He felt so helpless and angry at himself. 

“Isabella?” he called after her. 

“Yes, dear?” she tilted her head curiously. 

Edward’s mouth had gone dry. “M-must we go through this? The trial, I mean? Wouldn’t it be better to just-- drop the charges and-- and pretend it never happened?” 

He knew she would hate the suggestion the moment he uttered it, and he was right. 

“Not a chance!” she insisted, gathering her skirts to quickly cross the distance between them. “If you say nothing now, it’ll seem like you--” she huffed and said the next sentence quietly, “like you  _ wanted  _ it to happen. Which you didn’t.” 

Edward swallowed again. “I-- yeah, you’re right, I didn’t.” He deflated again. “It’s just… all so gastly…” 

Isabella sighed and looked at him with compassion. “I know it is, my darling. But it’s all for the best.” She ran her fingers through his hair, petting him like one would a beloved puppy. “You’re doing the right thing. This man comes here and thinks he can just take what he wants! Just because he’s the Mayor he thinks his actions have no consequences. We’ll show him that they do!” 

“He used to be a good friend…,” Edward muttered quietly. 

“You must never affiliate with that sort of sick man anymore, Edward,” Isabella warned. “He’s a sheep in a wolf’s clothing. He’s nothing but trouble. If you say you’re friends with him, people might think you’re like him!” She looked as outraged as she sounded. “You wouldn’t want people to think I’m married to a sodomite, now, do you? You wouldn’t want to be sent to death because of some-- some  _ freak!”  _

Edward’s shaky hands grabbed a tighter hold of the shoe he’d been working on. “No, I wouldn’t want that,” he agreed timidly. 

Pleased, Isabella let go of him and headed for the door once again. “Finish up here. We have a lot to do to prepare for the trial.” 

~*~ 

Without a doubt, Miss Barbara Kean was a beautiful woman. The moment she appeared at the entrance of Oswald Cobblepot’s miserable cell James knew they were saved. If a woman like  _ that  _ would vouch for the Mayor’s healthy sexual appetites, surely no other accusations would ever be taken seriously. 

“Barbara! My dear!” Mayor Cobblepot rose up to his feet to greet the blonde woman. 

“Oswald!” The young lady crossed the distance between them and the two held hands. 

“You’re an angel for coming here, my dear,” the Mayor said gently. 

“I couldn’t stay away! Not when you suffer in this horrible place!” Miss Kean replied. 

James took a step closer. “Am I right in assuming that Miss Kean is your…?” he prompted. 

“Fiancée,” Miss Kean finished for him. “I’m Oswald’s fiancée. And I’m here to support him in any way I can!” She hooked her arm with Cobblepot’s, mirroring a bride and a groom at their wedding. “I resent these insane accusations that this man is spreading against my beloved!. This entire trial is a sham! My fiance is a respectable man. But he has many enemies, people who think they can use him. He’s a victim of such a man!” 

“That he is,” Bullock nodded, grinning at the pretty young lady and running his hand through his hair as if to comb it into something more elegant. 

“Anyone with half a brain can see my fiance is innocent,” Miss Kean insisted with firm conviction. “You must defend his honor! And I am here to make away with these ridiculous rumors and accusations.” 

“Well, your presence would definitely help,” James agreed, but he was still not too convinced about all this. Miss Kean’s presence in the Mayor’s life was too quick, too convenient. “May I ask why you’ve never mentioned your engagement to Miss Kean before, Mr. Mayor? Surely you realized this affiliation would be in your favor.” 

Cobblepot seemed a bit surprised by the question. After a short pause, he opened his mouth to reply but Miss Kean beat him to it. “I insisted on it to be a quiet, private matter. My darling Oswald was only protecting me,” she smiled at the Mayor then looked back at Gordon. “You see, my parents are… Well, they’re peculiar people. Old money and all that. They insist I marry whomever they wish. So I was hoping Oswald and I could wait with the announcement of our engagement until the time was more favorable.” 

Bullock snorted at that posh way of saying she was waiting for her parents to die. He realized his faux pax and tried to pass his snort as a cough. “Allergies,” he said in leu of an excuse. 

James proceeded, ignoring his partner’s clumsiness. “And how long have you two--?” 

“Almost a year now,” Miss Kean replied, giving Cobblepot another happy smile. 

“This may be a bit indelicate of me to ask but the circumstances demand of me that I do,” James cleared his throat. “Miss Kean, have you, by chance, ever been… _intimate_ … with Mr. Cobblepot?” 

The Mayor was visibly flustered by the question. But Miss Kean seemed perfectly composed. 

“I have no complaints in that department,” she announced more boldly than James had ever heard any lady do, especially concerning  _ such  _ matters. “Oswald has never disappointed me in the bedroom.” 

Bullock’s eyes went wide and James had to nudge him as a reminder to close his mouth. 

Mayor Cobblepot’s cheeks were even more flustered than before. “My dear, you truly  _ are  _ an angel,” he said to Miss Kean. “I am so sorry that you have to go through all this inconvenience because of me.” He kissed her hands with feeling and she smiled in return. 

“It’s not your fault, my beloved,” she reassured lovingly. “That man, that cold fish Mr. Nygma, is to blame! I hope he gets what he deserves.” 

“We’re here to make sure of it,” Bullock said readily, already smitten with the woman. James had to suppress another eye roll and concentrate on his work. 

“You do realize, Miss Kean,” James said carefully, “that by agreeing to speak at the trial, you will have to publicly testify about your fiance’s sexual preferences? Meaning, you’d have to publicly admit your love has been physically consummated.” 

“Of course, I realize that,” Miss Kean replied, a little offended. “I am no fool.” 

“Of course not. It’s just that some ladies might find that… too brave.” He tried to put this as delicately as he could. “Harmful for their reputation. Especially a young lady of your stature. Your family might--” 

“The only way my family could stop me from doing this, is if they lock me away,” she said firmly. “I have decided. And I’m standing by Oswald’s side, here.” 

Moved, the Mayor brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Thank you…” he whispered quietly and for some reason it felt more genuine than anything he had said to her before. 

Miss Kean did not stay for long. After a brief discussion about the trial, she had to leave. 

“Congratulations,” Bullock told Mr. Cobblepot when it was once again just the three of them in the cell. 

“Thank you,” the Mayor gave a small nod with his head. Then his eyes met James’. “Now that my status is… improved… must we still continue with the blackmail story? Isn’t my association with Barbara enough to prove my innocence?” 

James furrowed his brows a little. “Why are you so reluctant to see Nygma convicted?” 

The Mayor fidgeted nervously. “It’s not that, I just…” He chuckled when he realized James was not buying it. “Very well. I will not try to fool you.” He paused and then proceeded more confidently. “I have compassion for men like Mr. Nygma. He’s poor, a man who only has his trade and his family. His-- his wife. She demands a lot from him. And he’s only trying to support her. Trying to survive. Like so many in Gotham.” He swallowed. “His business is suffering and he clearly needs resources. He means me no harm, he’s doing this for the money. So. If I can spare him going to jail for it, I would.” 

“Surely not at the expense of your own life,” Bullock interjected, puzzled. 

“Well, of course not. But you understand my reasons to wish to avoid him being convicted.” 

James gave it some thought. “We do indeed, Mr. Mayor,” he said. “If that is your wish, I can build your defence entirely on your relationship with Miss Kean. But I advise you to reconsider.” 

“You could get revenge on that man,” Bullock explained. “Wouldn’t you want that after what he put you through?” 

The Mayor was silent for a moment or two. Then he smiled again and shrugged with feigned nonchalance. “Let’s leave the blackmailing as a last resort.” 

~*~ 

It was a most peculiar case indeed. Not so much because of the circumstances surrounding it, but because of the people involved. The events were laid before James as neatly as ever, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss. Something didn’t fit. James’ instincts screamed that there was more to this case than met the eye. It was the habit of following his instincts that urged him to dig deeper for the truth underneath the seemingly neat surface, and conduct a small investigation of his own into Mayor Cobblepot’s private life. It was his sense of decency that urged him to visit the Mayor a second time that evening, not in the capacity of his lawyer, to discuss his findings. 

“Mr. Gordon,” the Mayor blinked, “I must admit this is a surprise. I didn’t expect to see you so soon.” 

“I’m afraid I have some delicate news,” James said. “I’m faced with some difficulty.” 

“Oh?” 

“In that I am in possession of some evidence about you that if you should choose to be truthful, means that I cannot defend you. And similarly if you do not choose to be truthful then I cannot trust you.” 

The Mayor furrowed his brows. “I see,” he said but did not elaborate further, leaving for Gordon to take this conversation in the direction he wished. 

“A way out of this difficulty,” James continued, “is that rather than discuss the particularities of this case, I will put a hypothetical one to you.” 

The Mayor gave a consenting nod and James proceeded. 

“Let’s suppose that a man is of the sodomitical tendency.” 

“Why would we do that?” the Mayor asked rather dispassionately. 

“It’s a hypothetical. So we suppose that a man has these tendencies.” 

The Mayor no longer objected, quietly listening to what James had to say. 

“Let’s suppose this man finds another man of similar tastes.” 

The Mayor swallowed but again did not interrupt. 

“They form an attachment. An utterly consensual relationship and with it a friendship,” James said. “One where money is lent freely. Where secrets and troubles are shared.” 

He paused, fixing his gaze on the Mayor. 

“Continue,” was all Cobblepot responded with. 

“They need to be very careful, of course. They are aware that the law would treat them both harshley should they be found out. Their love is dangerous. They risk their lives for it but they willingly do so.” James looked even more serious as he spoke. “Until one day they’re discovered. And one of the men betrays the other.” 

The Mayor paled. 

“That man claims he was most grievously assaulted against his will,” James said. 

“Such a situation could turn friends into enemies, desperate only to save their own lives,” the Mayor added, voice soft and a little shaky. “I imagine…” 

“In this scenario, the man cannot tell even his own lawyer what has happened for fear of incriminating himself,” James concluded. 

“Terrible situation for all concerned. Yet one where there has been no coercion, where there is no victim. Where without law there would be  _ love _ .” The Mayor inhaled deeply as if trying to hold his tears. 

James’ heart skipped a beat at the mention of that word. “And this unlawful love exposed by the contemplation of a wife.” 

“... and a husband, unable to confess to the nature of that love, instead confesses to its opposite,” Cobblepot concluded. 

A pang of compassion went through James’ heart. “A sad hypothesis.”

The Mayor’s eyes glistened with telling wetness. “Yes, sir, yes.” Their eyes met and James could see the pain in them. “A sad hypothesis indeed.” 

It was at that moment that James made up his mind. “You must speak plain to me, sir,” he said decisively. “Of the relationship between yourself and Edward Nygma.” 

The Mayor furrowed his brows in confusion. “There is some change here,” he said. “Earlier you told me such a conversation was impossible.” 

“In my legal defence of you, yes.” James sat closer to Mr. Cobblepot. “But not as one man to another. Your trial is tomorrow and I may do my duty better as your barrister if we are honest with each other now. As fellow humans.” 

“I--” The Mayor seemed moved. “I haven’t really spoken about--” he hesitated. 

James gave an encouraging nod. 

The Mayor sighed. “I’ve spent my life hiding from plain view, sir. Living with things I can never say out loud.” 

James could understand that. “We’re more alike than you think, sir,” he said. “I’ll be plain with you, then.” He was not one to share feelings. But perhaps here, in this cold cell, with this tortured man, James could, for the first time in his life, truly be open about what he felt. “I love a woman,” he said, Lee’s face glowing behind his closed eyelids. “I love a woman deeply. But she’s another man’s wife. Our attachment, although strong, has never gone beyond propriety. Yet, ruinous accusations have been made against me. I am charged with committing adultery with this man’s wife. I have not, but I have yearned to. Do yearn to still.” He took a moment to just… be. 

“Your secret torments you,” the Mayor uttered softly, with understanding. 

“I would dearly love to own it and for the owning of it to be of no account,” James confessed. 

“For years I’ve been hiding in the shadows. Every excursion in the dark or out of sight,” the Mayor said. “But Edward… he’s someone to be loved in the busiest coffee house, hands held.” 

“Why so?” James asked, truly curious. 

“His wife thinks him weak,” Oswald said with a frown, “but he's merely gentle. He's quiet but all the time attentive.” 

James observed as a smile spread across the Mayor’s face. It was obvious he couldn’t help the way his face lightened up as he spoke of the man he loved. James smiled with him. 

“He’s so caring and sweet. So intelligent and interesting to be around. And in the heat of his work he will blow upwards at his forehead so it does lift the locks of his hair.” A little flushed, Oswald chuckled nervously, breathless. 

“There are some who would hang you for your sentiments alone,” James noted. 

The Mayor nodded. “Isabella. She wants me gone.” 

“We must find a way to have everybody's true sentiments out in court in a way that will save you,” James said, thoughtfully. 

But the Mayor wasn’t listening to him. He seemed miles away. 

“Is something wrong?” James asked. 

“Do I disgust you?” Oswald asked, voice small. 

“I see women burned and innocent men hanged,” James replied. “Then I am in the grip of that emotion. Your love?” He shook his head. “That does not disgust me. And I promise I will do my best to save you tomorrow. Miss Kean’s testimony will definitely help.” 

“Barbara is a good friend,” Oswald said with a soft smile. “I am so grateful that she would do this for me. Her parents wouldn’t like it, you know. I worry about her.” 

“Miss Kean does seem like an extraordinary woman.” 

“That she is. If only she could break free from the chains of society.” 

“If only we all could do that…,” James retorted wistfully. 

“I hope your situation improves,” the Mayor said genuinely. “With the lady you love.” 

James looked at the other man and smiled sadly. “Thank you. I hope so too.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Edward swallowed nervously, sitting on the bed, keeping his hands close to himself. It was his wedding night. He was supposed to be happy. But he couldn't force himself to look happy, he couldn't keep up the pretense. It was hardly a  _ real  _ wedding when there was no love. And this was definitely not what he had expected from his life. Deep down Edward had always been a romantic at heart. He had hoped to fall in love one day. To find that special person who would give sense to everything bad that ever happened in Edward’s life. All the pain and sorrow had to amount to something. There had to be someone who was worth all the misery Ed had to endure while waiting to meet them. But then his father informed him he had found a lovely young lady for him. A ‘perfect match’. Isabella. A friend's daughter. A future business partner's daughter. And just like that Edward’s heart sunk. 

Ed had known Isabella for a while. They were never close although she seemed strangely fond of him. And although Ed was sure she was a lovely young lady, he didn’t want her as his wife. He wasn’t sure he wanted a wife at all, actually. In his mind, he saw his life completely differently from what his father expected of him. Marrying Isabella was definitely not in Ed’s plan. He tried to fight the marriage but he was no fighter. His anxiety made him shake every time he as much as tried to stand up for himself. He was weak, and he didn’t even know how to pretend to be confident. 

And of course, there was the  _ other  _ issue. Edward was different. He was not…  _ normal _ . That made him suspect that love was not something he could ever have the pleasure of enjoying. Not when he-- not when he felt so different from other boys. Not when he envisioned the love of his life as… another man. He hadn’t met that man yet, but he could close his eyes and imagine him -- the way he talked, the way he moved, his eyes and his lips, his hair and his neck, the way he’d make Ed feel… Ed really wished his dream lover would come to life. But, alas, reality was much different than Edward’s fantasy world. He was well aware that the things in his head could never really happen. So surely an arranged marriage wouldn’t be the worst thing for him. If he were already doomed to be forever miserable with his perverted desires, he might as well be miserable with a wife than alone. At least that way he would keep his father happy. Having a wife would also secure him a peaceful life. No one would doubt him if he had a woman by his side. Yes. Marrying Isabella was the  _ safe  _ option. And Edward had no reason to take a risk. So he stopped fighting it and married the girl. 

Of course that left him in a difficult predicament now that he had to actually consummate the marriage. He had no wish to make love to his new wife, and he was more nervous than ever before. His only hope was that perhaps Isabella was as nervous as him. Maybe she wouldn’t even want to do this tonight. Maybe they could just lie down and snuggle, get to know each other better, find a way to feel safe together first before plunging into a whole new scary world of physical intimacy. 

He was wrong. 

“It’s nice to get out of that dress,” Isabella said in a melodic voice. She was standing in her nightgown, smiling at him. 

Edward swallowed. “Yes. It’s been a long day. I bet you’re as tired as I am. Maybe we should just go to sleep?” he suggested hopefully. 

She chuckled and climbed into the bed. “Not  _ that  _ tired.” 

She tapped the space next to her and Ed realized that there was a very real chance that he’d faint on his wedding night. 

“Are you sure you wouldn’t just want to sleep?” he tried one last time as he hesitantly joined his wife in their marital bed. 

Isabella leaned close and ran her fingers through his hair. “You’re so sweet,” she said. “So thoughtful.” Her hands proceeded to caress him. “But I want to be yours, body and soul. So take what’s yours!” 

To take what was his? Edward paled. He couldn’t do that. He didn’t feel Isabella was  _ his _ . And if he had to be honest, he wasn’t sure he wanted her to be his. 

“Isabella, I… I need to tell you something…” he muttered, sweating nervously. He had to tell her. He had to be honest with his wife. This was a secret he had never told to another living soul, a  _ dangerous  _ secret, but surely he had to confide in his wife. 

"Shhh," Isabella put her finger to his lips, silencing him with a soft smile. "No need for words. Touching can say so much more." 

Her hand slid down his chest, then further down to his front, to his crotch. She cupped him in her hand, massaging him slowly. 

Edward's breath caught. No one had ever-- Edward was a virgin. He had no idea being touched like that by someone else could feel this way. He’d always been so lonely, so touch starved. Now, for the first time, he had someone. Sure, it wasn’t the  _ someone  _ Ed had hoped for, but this was… Warmth. Care. Intimacy. All the things Edward craved with desperation. Slowly his defenses lowered and he surrendered to Isabella's clever hands. This was normal, he repeated to himself. She was his wife. She had the right. It was supposed to be like this. The anxiety and the fear, the lowkey disgust inside him, that was his sickness. He wasn’t normal, but he had to be. One  _ had to be normal  _ to be happy. Perhaps Isabella could help him with this. Maybe she’d make things better. Maybe she’d cure him.  _ This is fine, this is fine, this is fine, _ he repeated to himself like a mantra as she kept touching him. Isabella was a young, beautiful, intelligent woman. What sort of a man wouldn't be happy to have her? 

After they were done, Isabella kissed him with a smile and wished him goodnight. Edward tried to smile back, but he only managed to curl up under the blankets and cry himself to sleep. 

~*~ 

He met Oswald in a coffeehouse. He’d been married to Isabella for about two years already. Plenty of time to get used to it and learn to accept things he could not change. His father had died shortly after the wedding so the business belonged to Edward now, but Isabella was very helpful too. She had an eye for business that Edward lacked. She was good with money, good with making the decisions, and confident enough to take matters in her hands. Edward had to be grateful to have her. He was only good at making the shoes. 

They worked well as partners. Even if Isabella was a bit controlling, Edward was glad to have someone to keep him straight. He’d always been under someone else's control anyway -- first his father, now his wife. His life never belonged to him, but he was used to it. He wasn’t sure he knew how to live any other way. With time he learned to accept it and stop wishing for a change. Until he saw Oswald Cobblepot. 

That day, for the first time, Edward wondered  _ what if _ . What if he had made his decisions for himself instead of letting others do it for him? What if he hadn’t married a woman he could never love? What if he had allowed himself to feel the way he felt? What if he could just go to the man in the coffeehouse and talk to him? Open up for him?  _ Be  _ with him? 

Of course, any conversations of the sort remained purely in the realm of fantasy. Edward  _ wanted  _ to talk to the gorgeous black-haired, green-eyed man, but he just  _ couldn’t _ . He was weak, cowardly, just like Isabella always told him he was. And even if he  _ did  _ talk to the man, what would that achieve? There was no chance that man was as deprived as Edward. No chance he would want to-- with Edward and-- it just… 

The man stepped funny and cursed loudly, his voice pulling Edward out of his frantic, nervous thoughts. He was about to look away, worried that some bystander might have seen him looking at the man and miraculously read his mind. But then he noticed that the man's face twisted in a pained grimace. He was hurt! it must've been his foot and it seemed quite painful, yet no one in the coffeehouse dared to approach him and offer help. Edward wondered why were they so afraid of him? Or why were they so cruel to leave this fascinating man to deal with his pain alone. 

Ignoring his own anxiety, Ed rushed to his aid. 

“L-let me look at it. I’m good with injuries,” he said, taking the man by the arm and helping him to a nearby chair. 

The stranger frowned up at Ed. “Why?” 

“I have been injured a lot in my childhood. I’ve learned to take care of myself,” Edward replied.

The man huffed in irritation. “I meant, why help me, not why are you good with injuries.” 

“Oh.” Ed blushed terribly. He was already making a fool of himself. “B-because you looked hurt? And… and I think you’ve sprained your ankle.” 

The man looked down at his foot and groaned. “Worse,” he said. “My shoe is ruined.” 

For a moment Edward just starred a little agape, unsure if the man was for real or not. Surely he wasn’t more concerned about his shoe than his injury! Was he  _ that  _ used to pain that he treated it so casually? As a boy very often abused by his father, Edward could relate to that in a strange way. He couldn’t help but feel warmth at that revelation. 

His gaze slid down to the shoe in question, and he smiled. “It’s just your heel. It’s detached from the shoe.”

“Well, thank you, Sir Obvious,” the man rolled his eyes. Even that seemed charming to Ed somehow. 

“No, I mean I can fix it,” Ed explained with a soft smile. 

The other man looked at him with more interest this time. “Is that so?” 

“I’m a cobbler. My shop is across the street. I can fix it now, if you want.” He was suddenly feeling almost confident. As if the knowledge that he could help with his skills was making him braver. 

The man’s beautiful green eyes examined him carefully, as if reading his most personal thoughts. “Okay. Yes, I would like that. I’m Oswald Cobblepot.”

“Edward. Nygma.” 

As they shook hands, Ed’s heart skipped a beat. All the sudden the world made sense and life wasn't so bleak anymore. 

~*~ 

Ed took the stand when he was called. Oswald was standing in the docks, hands tied like a criminal. Edward quickly averted his gaze. He couldn't take that image. He couldn't look Oswald in the eyes after what he had allowed to happen. That day when Isabella caught them together, kissing, when she raged and hit Oswald with her fists, and when Oswald, too much of a gentleman to hit her back, took all the insults and accusations. Ed wished he had stood up for him then. He wished he had explained to Isabella that things weren't what she assumed. After all, deep down she had probably always suspected that something wasn't right with Ed. Maybe this was his chance to finally tell her the truth. 

But he was afraid. He was a coward. He couldn't stop fearing what Isabella might do if she knew the truth, how badly she could hurt both of them. So he allowed her to take matters in her hands once again. He let her start this fight against Oswald for him even though he hated the very thought of it. He let Oswald be publicly accused of being a sodomite, a criminal, a rapist, a beast. He had ruined Oswald’s life. Yet despite everything when he took a glimpse of Oswald's face he couldn't see a hint of hatred in those beautiful eyes. Only sorrow. The fact that Oswald didn't despise him after what Ed did to him somehow made things worse. How could Oswald still look at him like this? How could he not find contempt in the man's gaze? Only love. Always love… 

He stole another glance in Oswald’s direction, in secret and fear as he usually did when they were not alone, and his heart ached for him again. Oswald looked so sad. So very sad. His eyes were wet and red. He had probably cried. He was so sensitive underneath his tough facade. Edward cringed at the thought of how much worse things could get from now on. He hated that! He wished he could come up with a way out of this terrible situation but he was hyperventilating, his hands were shaking, his head was spinning. He couldn’t think. This was a puzzle he couldn’t solve. He didn’t know how to stop this. 

The lawyer's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked at him nervously, shoulders hunched, as if he were afraid of being too tall, too clumsy. He had to answer the questions the way his wife and her lawyer had told him to. He had to answer questions about how Oswald abused him. How he  _ ‘forced himself’  _ on Ed and violated him. Oswald who had always been so gentle and kind to Ed! How could he say those horrible things about him? How could he say them and live with himself? 

The same way he had for 29 years, he thought. Hadn’t he always lived a lie? 

He hoped he wouldn’t stutter stutter when giving his testimony. He had to be careful to say things the way Isabella had made him practice. She wouldn’t have a sodomite for a husband -- it would’ve been terrible for business. 

Briefly he wondered if Oswald could sense how bad Ed felt. Then he scolded himself internally for that thought. Oswald was in a far worse situation at this moment. He was probably too hurt to even care about what Edward was feeling. It was cruel that they were placed in this situation, on opposite sides, when all Ed wanted was to hold Oswald in his arms and cry with him until his tears washed away all the shame and pain that he felt and had caused. What cruel irony it was that the one time Edward was completely sure about something in his life -- his love for Oswald -- life was snatching it away from him? It wasn’t life though, was it? It was Isabella… 

~*~ 

It was clear that sodomy was committed. Consensual or not, the law was the law and as a barrister, James was obligated to report the crime. A punishment was to follow. Yet, there had been no admission. Not officially. No one was aware of what the Mayor had told James in the quiet recluse of the cold dark cell. Ironically, that prison cell had been their safe space. 

“Jim, we have a problem,” Bullock pulled him out of his thoughts. “Miss Kean. She’s not coming.” 

“I don’t understand. She promised,” James replied. 

“Apparently her parents caught her in a compromising position with a female friend of hers… Long story short, Miss Kean has problems of her own at the moment.” 

James’ eyes widened a little. He had not expected Miss Kean herself to be of the same tendencies as Mayor Cobblepot. But who was James to judge? And what was there to judge at all? Wasn’t love supposed to be a good thing? Why did society put boundaries on when love was permitted and when not? James loved Lee more than her husband ever could! Yet his love was considered unlawful, dirty, shameful. Where was the fairness in that? Wasn’t the law supposed to be just? 

“Where is she?” he asked Bullock, eyebrows knitted together. 

“Her parents are sending her to a monastery from what I heard,”Bullock made a face of compassionate empathy. “As for the trial, they claim the engagement is fake. They don’t want their name to be associated with this scandal.” 

James sighed. “Then we’ve lost our biggest advantage.” 

“James,” Bullock frowned nervously. “I suspect that… Well, perhaps Cobblepot isn’t as innocent as we were left to believe.” 

James frowned. “Meaning?” 

“He and that Nygma fellow… Something’s fishy. If you know what I mean.” 

“I will defend him, Harvey,” James said with conviction. 

“But  _ sodomy _ , James!” Harvey warned, voice hushed but intense. “Sodomy! It’s not a matter to take lightly! If people find out that you’re defending someone like that--” 

“A man loves another,” James cut him off passionately, “any other, whom society says he may not, and he must be pilloried for it? Why should I not defend against that?” 

Bullock arched both eyebrows. “Are you really asking me this?” 

“It’s an unjust law and isn’t that what we’re here to fight against?” 

“So what do you plan on doing? Defend the cause of love?”

Jim remained silent. 

“Damnation! You’ll be a romantic in court! Heaven help us all!” 


End file.
